


Don't Ever Let it End

by singasongofdestiel



Category: Nickelback (Band), Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, One Shot, Romantic Fluff, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:09:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3716332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singasongofdestiel/pseuds/singasongofdestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pure, sweet fluff based on the Nickelback song.<br/>About the slow, sliding sensation of falling in love when you're just good friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Ever Let it End

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the song here :) [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DbWIONfQRi4]

Don't let it end  
Don't let it end  
Don't ever let it end

 

Dean closed his eyes and grinned. Here he was: in such a messed up, rolled up, fucked up place and he was smiling like a cat that got everyone else's cream. The smile stayed as he stretched himself out on his back and began to pray.

"Hey, Cas. I've got two tickets to the game this Sunday, I don't know if you want to come with me."

Dean cracked one eye open, "It'd be great if you could." A small stab of anxiety ran through him until the well-known flutter of feathers smudged it out of mind. He looked up at the angel stood at the end of his bed. "Hey," his voice was soft, crooning. He cleared his throat.

"I would love to come." Cas stared at Dean, his body languid on the dark sheets. He hastily shifted his eyes away. "I have never experienced a 'game' before, what does it entail?"

 

The raucous crowds, the unhygienic stalls, the stench of greasy food. Cas loved it. Watching the human players running back and forth seemed far less important to him than watching the rippling expressions on Dean's face. Cas couldn't choose a favourite reaction: teeth pulling into his lower lip; those lips pealing out in a grin; the concertina creases around his eyes that revealed time well-spent. As the day progressed and the overhead lights came on, they put a literal sparkle into those clear green eyes which, Cas was pleased to note, kept flicking to check that he was enjoying it too.

 

As they left the stadium Dean altered his loping to bring Cas under his arm. "How'd you find it?"

"It was great. A truly fascinating study of human culture. But I'm still unsure of something."

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

"Exactly what is the canine component of a 'corn dog'?"

Cas didn't even mind his ignorance when it was rewarded with Dean's blissful, open-mouthed, head-tipped-back guffaw.

 

"Hold up— I've got to pick up some caffeine," Dean pulled Cas through a doorway into a coffee shop. The quiet bubble of painted terracotta walls and regulated temperature felt strange after the noise of the arena.

Cas put his hands in pockets and let his eyes trail down the back of Dean's head, following his hair to where it just brushed against his shirt collar. A flicker of blonde caught his eye as the lipglossed barista swished her hair in an altogether unnecessary manner, which had nothing to do with coffee and everything to do with Dean.

 

Dean felt Cas looming behind his shoulder.

"You alright?"

Cas wasn't even looking at him. In fact, he seemed to be staring pretty intently at the barista. Funny, Dean hadn't exactly pinned her as his type.

"Yes. Actually Dean, I was wondering who won the game."

Dean grabbed his coffee with mumbled courtesies, and turned to look at his friend. He stared, dumbfounded, for a few seconds, then shook his head. "I honestly haven't got a clue." The funny thing was he didn't even care.

They stepped back out into the cooling evening. A cop gave them a sidelong glance. "Look at them, thinking they know all about us," a crease pooled between Dean's eyebrows, "Bet you they couldn't cope with half the things we've been through."

"I doubt they could even cope with doing their own dry-cleaning."

Dean looked up in surprise. Cas' disinterested gaze was completely at odds to the savvy pop-culture reference he'd made. Dean smiled, "Yeah, yeah, you're right". Cas noticed a tingling sensation in his chest as those dimples peeked out at him, I caused this. He wanted to show his gratitude in some way but was unsure as to what would be deemed acceptable.

"You're my best friend."

Cas blinked, as shocked to have said it as Dean was to hear it. The two paused, caught between nonchalance and something inexpressible. The sun-drenched pavement radiated into the twilight and Cas counted his breaths. Eventually Dean looked up through his eyelashes and said, very quietly, "Yeah, me too."

The heartbeat stillness of mid-summer held for just a moment longer before Dean felt the rush of air that announced Cas’ departure.

 

Dean stared at the book in his hands, trying to evoke a Sam-standard of fascination for the musty old text. He had a fake-it-till-you-make-it approach to research. Today had been much more faking-it though as the heat was breathing continuously against his skin. He skimmed his eyes across to the window, watching the dust from the passing cars as it unfocused into the shimmering air.

A hand on his shoulder sparked his finely tuned instincts. He was on his feet, the intruder pressed against the wall before he even registered the face. "Cas?" He'd gotten so used to hearing feather falls that he'd forgotten that celestial beings could use doors too.

His face was a hair's width from the rough stubble that graced Cas' cheeks and he could smell what could only be described as a fusion of ozone and fresh cut grass.

"Hello Dean. I have a proposition to make, if you would kindly put me down." Dean stepped back and brushed his hands on his trousers. His heart was erratically pushing against his rib cage as he backed up to sit on the table.

"As you so kindly took me to the game last Sunday, I felt it would be opportune to suggest that you accompany me to a concert this evening."

"Who's playing?" The words came out more hostile than Dean intended and he cringed at the lancing hurt in Cas' eyes.

"A local band. But I think it's rock, like your tapes."

Tenderness squished into Dean's throat, he didn't even mind that Cas had nosed his feathered-ass through his tape deck (in his car). He was practically tearing up, it was ridiculous. Even Sam drew himself out of his laptop for long enough to send him a searching look. As words were impossible through the haze of his personal chick-flick moment, he just grabbed his jacket and stalked out, Cas following a few beats behind.

 

The high from mass-excitement and the edge of ringing in his ears carried Dean towards the open spaces of the park. He wanted to scream the contents of his lungs into the air, to get into his car and drive for seventeen days without sleep, to throw rocks from every rooftop he could climb on. He crossed into the shadows of the trees and welcomed the revival of goose bumps on his arms. But Cas' footsteps faltered and stalled behind him, forcing him to turn back.

"Dean. I'd rather not walk this way. Since... everything..." He turned away, and stared at the base of a streetlamp. "Since all of that, I'm... I'd rather not spend so much time in the dark." Dean marvelled at the way the moon clung to his irises, exalting them to stardom. Those big blue eyes suddenly skittered away, Cas’ shoulders speaking of an inescapable tension that was far too real.

Unaware of himself, Dean reached out a hand and pulled Cas further into the shade. They fell into step under the branches, the park stretching out in that endless way that parks do, under the right circumstances.

 

With Sam asleep hours ago, Dean invited his angel in for a nightcap. Liquor and starlight made the whole thing seem painfully romantic. At some time past the point of counting, Cas leaned in close. His breath hot and dry and reaching as he whispered, just loud enough to be heard, "Don't ever let it end." A hand fumbling across Dean's legs, gripping his hand. A silent squeeze and a solemn stare, screaming out possibilities that anyone sober would dismiss instantly.

As Dean closed his drooping eyes that night his head was so full of that song we've all heard of. You know the one, about those two young friends that should've fell in love.

 

It's crazy now to look back, to laugh at every last one of the unsettlingly beautiful coincidences that build up to a relationship. Neither of the two would have guessed when they first met in that grim warehouse; they didn't even dare to hope until that Sunday night, the one no one else will ever know about.

Just the two, sat side by side on the Impala, and a moon so bright that it was lucky they weren't hunting a werewolf.

The space between them began to tug at Dean's chest, so he slowly reached out to pull Cas in. "I don't feel the cold, Dean."

Dean looked into Cas' sad old eyes, "I know."

And they just stayed like that, feeling safe and home and right.

As the wind picked up, Dean shifted slightly to face Cas. The angel saw the sugar-coated centre seeping out of the hunter, and knew what was going to happen. But Dean said nothing. Under the stars that mimicked the scattered freckles on Dean's face, Cas made a decision.

"I'm tired of pretending." Dean's eyebrows slid up, but Cas kept going, "But, I'm terrified of it ending. I know, if not for you, there is nothing I could do to ever let it end."  
Dean swallowed. A whole knot of fears and what-ifs and maybes stoppered his throat. But rising up, finally, were the words he had to say, "Well you know I feel the same way."  
Cas' eyes shut down as he tried to filter his memories, how could he know. "Because I told you drunk on my birthday." That lazy smile rolled across Dean's face as he pulled Cas in even closer.

When they were close enough for breaths to stroke flesh across the cold night, Dean drew back. "Just, please promise me that this won't end."

Cas looked at the human, whose life-span made an ending as inevitable as the apocalypse had been, once.

Yet there was one thought filling the lungs of those two washed-up dreamers: don't ever let it end.

He closed the distance between them and spoke into Dean's mouth.

 

"I promise."


End file.
